On One Condition Page 3

  I clear my throat. “Men like you,” I state and find my footing that his unwavering stare is constantly knocking askew. “Clearly one who thinks he’s too good for this establishment, this town, the people in it . . . maybe even this state, but for some reason, shock of all shocks, he’s sitting at this bar.”

  “Not by choice.”

  “Of course not. You just proved my point. On that note”—I lift my chin toward the direction of the door and lean my hips back against the counter behind me—“you know where the door is.”

  “Asher Wells speaks her mind now? That’s new,” he says with mock surprise and, for the first time, I see a hint of the personality that my teenage heart used to be madly in love with.

  “I’m not the same person you used to know. A lot has changed, Ledger.”

  “Clearly.” A ghost of a smile paints his lips. It’s smug and arrogant and, Jesus, does it suit him perfectly. There’s confidence to back it now, an acknowledgment that he is who he is without apology. “I like the change. It’s becoming of you—”

  “No, you don’t.” I snort and cross my arms over my chest, a defense in and of itself. “You think I’m being a bitch—which for the record, I am. I think I have a good cause too. Just as I’m sure you’ve followed in your father’s footsteps, opting to be the asshole whenever you feel like it, simply because you can. Or do you still toe the line, always doing what you’re told? Do you still need Daddy’s praise? To be the best of the best or you’re not considered good enough?”

  My temper gets the best of me with this incoherent ramble that I can’t help. It’s hurt or be hurt. It gets everything you once wanted to say out since this might be your only chance.

  But I’m so caught up in my feelings that I don’t give his grimace a second thought.

  “Hey, Ash. Can I get another, sweetheart?” a regular asks from across the bar.

  “Coming right up, Larry.” I move away to pour Larry’s beer, thankful for the reprieve. Maybe Ledger will give up and go back to wherever he came from while I’m distracted.

  “Why am I sensing that I missed part of this conversation somehow?” Or maybe not. There’s a chill to his voice, a stiffness to his posture.

  I’ve pissed him off.

  Good.

  That’s only an iota of what he deserves.

  I stare at him, my jaw clenched and hands fisted. Why am I letting the memory of what happened still affect me? It was a long time ago. It’s done and over with. “You know what? You’re right. You’re not worthy of my anger,” I finally say, hating that while I tell him that, I still want to ask a million questions.

  Why did you leave and never come back?

  Why didn’t you call?

  Was everything you told me a lie?

  Why did you let him tear you apart like that?

  That’s enough, Ash. Enough wondering. Enough anger. Enough forgetting what you promised yourself minutes ago—that the past is the past.

  This is the first impression you give him of who you are and what you’ve made of your life? All you’re succeeding in doing is looking unstable.

  Get your shit together, even if it kills you.

  “You’re right. I’m probably not worthy of your anger.” He meets my eyes and something softens inside me at his comment. At him giving me an out to somehow justify the spiteful words I just slung at him. “But hey, if I had known asking for a Coors Light would make you this upset, then I easily could have picked something else. A Heineken. A Corona. Which beer is best paired with the side of animosity you’re serving?”

  “Quit making fun of me.”

  He offers his lopsided, mischievous smile that has one reluctantly tugging on the corners of my mouth. I’m transported back to ice cream cones on the docks and kisses that left me breathless.

  There’s something about you that until this very moment, until seeing you standing there, I didn’t know would still pull on parts of me.

  “Everything good here?” Hank asks as he steps behind the bar, eyeing me with curiosity before taking in Ledger. “Asher taking care of you all right?”

  “Yes. She was just about to pour me a Coors Light, but she had to finish reading me the riot act about how much she dislikes me first.”

  Jesus. I’m filling in for Nita. The last thing I need is to cause paying customers to complain and get her in trouble with the boss.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Hank says, followed by his baritone bark of a laugh and a wink my way. “For what it’s worth, she doesn’t exactly like anyone.”

  I narrow my eyes at Hank as he emits a big belly laugh before moving to the far end of the bar to chat with some regulars.

  “Asher?” Ledger asks my name like a question, but when I look his way, there’s a sudden change to his expression. It’s almost as if he just had an epiphany or figured out an answer to the question he never asked. “A minute ago, you said something. About what I put you through—” He gives a quick shake to his head and as quickly as the expression appears, it’s gone. “I think you’re wrong. We do need to talk about what hap—”

  “Telling me I’m wrong isn’t the best way to make me like you again.”

  “I didn’t realize you had to try to. You never had to before.” The quiet confidence in his tone paired with the bittersweet look in his eyes has me struggling to think of a response.

  How is it possible to go from anger to uncertainty in such a short span of time?

  Confused and unsettled by the sudden feeling, I turn around to find a clean glass on the counter behind me, even though there’s a stack of them right in front of me.

  I’m a grown woman, for God’s sake.

  We were teenagers.

  It was a lifetime ago.

  I’ve moved on with my life and so has he.

  I rearrange more glasses before grabbing one and moving toward the tap. “What are you in town for? A trip with your family again? Is it your first time back since . . . before?” I ramble, my concentration on the beer and its foam head instead of Ledger. “The town has changed. The old hotel was bought and is being built into a resort. The whole town is up in arms over it.” I pour some foam out. “The ski resort is even fancier than before, if you can believe that. The rich ladies and their outfits even more outrageous than the ones we used to make fun of.”

  Ledger sits in silence as I rattle off comments, avoiding eye contact with him. But when I set the glass down in front of him, he closes his hand over my wrist.

  His touch.

  At one time it was everything my teenage heart yearned for.

  My eyes flash to his, but I don’t pull my hand away. I’m sure he can see it in the look I give him—a tinge of nostalgia, a bit of what could have been—but he doesn’t say a word. Rather, he just nods ever so slightly as if he understands, and offers a soft smile.

  “You look good, Asher. More than good,” he murmurs. “I hope you’ve been happy.”

  The kindness in his words almost unravels me. Vulnerability I don’t want to feel wells up as tears threaten, which I successfully fight back. It’s been a tough few months. Moving Gran to an assisted living facility. Losing Pop so unexpectedly. Then learning to shoulder the responsibilities to keep The Fields afloat when Pop guarded everything. Combined, it’s all but drowned me. So much in such a short span that his sympathy, his sincerity, get to me.

  “Trudging along,” I say as I pull my hand from his grip. “And you? You’re good?”

  He nods again as he studies me in that silent, disarming way of his. “Are you still sketching those insanely beautiful landscapes? I always figured I’d stumble upon one somewhere and know right away it was yours.”

  “No. Not anymore.”

  “I thought you were going to art school. To—”

  “Plans changed.”

  “That was your dream though.”

  “Dreams change.” I look at the door as another customer walks in and welcome the distraction. “You never answered my questions.”

&
nbsp; “Because I wanted to know about you more.” He takes a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine until he gives a roll of his eyes. “Fine. What are your questions, Ash?”

  He says my nickname like no time has passed, and we’re still familiar with each other. I can’t bring myself to correct him.

  Maybe I don’t want to.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I was driving to Cedar Falls from the airport. After a day full of traveling delays, I thought a beer was in order. I saw the sign for Hank’s, the busy parking lot in front of it, and . . . here I am.”

  I cross my arms and huff at his response. He smiles.

  “I didn’t mean in Hank’s, and you know it. Stop mocking me and answer the question.”

  “You always were bossy,” he murmurs, showing me he does remember me. The old me, anyway. “That big resort that the whole town is up in arms over?” He raises his hand. “That would be mine.”

  Realization slams into me. “You’re S.I.N.?”

  “Guilty as charged.” He glances around as if he’s waiting to encounter animosity if anyone overhears him. “Sharpe International Network, otherwise known as S.I.N.”

  Talk about being blindsided. I knew his father was big in the hospitality industry and ridiculously wealthy. That was clear by where they stayed, by the outrageously expensive everything Ledger and his brothers had, and by the cars they drove while here. But I had no idea S.I.N. was that company.

  “How did I not know this?”

  He shrugs. “We rebranded a while back and since we’ve added on so many international properties in the past ten years, we became S.I.N.”

  “We?”

  “Yes. We.” The grief in his eyes is fleeting, but I catch it nonetheless. “My father died two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” My words are a polite reflex for a man vilified in my memories.

  He nods in acknowledgment. “My brothers and I run the company now.”

  “For the company’s sake, let’s hope you don’t bicker as much as you used to.”

  “At times.”

  I laugh. It’s the first time I have, and somehow it eases the heaviness between us. “So you’re here in Cedar Falls to do what exactly with the hotel? Calm the mob over its mere existence?”

  “Something like that. Mayor Grossman deems it necessary that I stay here for the next two months to be at his beck and call or else he’ll withhold our occupancy permits and prevent us from opening.”

  “I could lie and say that surprises me . . . but sadly, it doesn’t. He’s a greedy man who thinks more of himself than should be legal, and with reelection coming up . . .”

  “Great. Something to look forward to.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to drive back to the airport and escape while you can?”

  “It’s that bad, huh?”

  “Depends on what side you fall on.”

  “And what side do you fall on, Asher?” he asks, but for some reason, I feel like the question he’s asking means so much more than whether I agree with the new resort in town or not.

  And before I can answer his question, Nita shows up like a whirlwind of energy and chaos, as is her usual fashion.

  “Oh my gosh,” she says, hastily tying an apron behind her waist as she pushes her way behind the bar. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She leans in to kiss me on the cheek, giving me the disruption I unknowingly needed. “You’re a lifesaver. A total freaking lifesaver, Ash.”

  It’s in that moment she must sense the connection between Ledger and me because her motions falter as she looks from me to him and then back again.

  “Well, hello there handsome,” she purrs in a way that only Nita can get away with without coming off as forward or desperate. “I’d offer to get you something a tad sweeter to whet your palate, but it seems to me that Asher here was taking care of you just fine. I’ll—uh, go clear some tables so you two can, you know, finish whatever needs finishing.” She looks Ledger over, and the nudge she gives me is anything but subtle.

  If she only knew . . .

  “No need to leave and clear anything,” I say as I untie my apron and scrunch it into a ball, needing something to do with my hands. It’s as if the events of the last fifteen minutes have come crashing down on me, and I suddenly need a minute alone to think and process and . . . breathe. “You’re all set here.” Nita eyes me cautiously, wondering no doubt, why I’m acting so weird. “I really need to get going.”

  “You’re leaving?” Ledger stands up abruptly, his barstool loud as it scrapes across the floor when he does.

  “Yes. I was only helping Nita out while she went to a school function with her son.” I offer a strained smile as my heart races in my chest. “This isn’t my—I don’t regularly work here.”

  How does this end?

  Do I just walk away? Do I get anything else off my chest while I have the chance to? Do I even want to? Or is this enough for me? Will I finally have the closure I didn’t realize I needed simply from talking to him?

  “That means you can stay and talk then.”

  “I can’t. I have . . . things to do,” I say and give Nita an air kiss on the cheek before heading toward the back storage room to grab my things.

  I have a sudden need to flee. To have some solitude and some quiet. Two things that are impossible to have when his presence is clouding my every thought like it is right now.

  I’ve just about reached the end of the bar and the door to the back room when Ledger grabs my elbow.

  “Asher. Wait. You’re going to leave just like that? Without another word?”

  It’s a horrible feeling, isn’t it?

  But I don’t put words to the thoughts. Can’t. It’s best to leave this as is. In a better place. More settled. As is.

  “I have to go,” I say to save face, but when I turn and meet his eyes, my feet refuse to move.

  “You sure?” He dips his head to be on my level so his eyes can search mine.

  “I’m sure.”

  He rocks on his heels, clearly not believing my lie but letting me think he does anyway. For that, I’m more than grateful.

  “It was great to see you, Ash.” There’s that lopsided smile again. It’s genuine and real, and I hate that despite our past, a part of me sags at the sight of it. “Actually, it’s better than great.”

  “It was nice to catch up. Good luck with everything.”

  “No. Not yet.” He sighs and glances around the bar before he meets my eyes again. “Look . . . we were kids, starry-eyed and not prepared for anything life was going to throw at us. Things happened that . . . that happened. Things I still don’t understand, and that I’m starting to think neither of us could control. We could talk about the past and dwell on the what-might-have-beens, but that would be pointless.”

  “Agreed.” I nod when, in reality, I want to dissect every word he just said to me. “It was good seeing you, Ledger.” I start to walk away, but his words stop me.

  “I’m going to be in town for a couple of months. I’d like to get together sometime . . . have a drink. Catch up.” He glances down for a beat before meeting my eyes. “Be friends.”

  Emotion is thick in my throat as I stumble for a response I’m not sure I know the answer to. “Maybe.” I push on the door and look over my shoulder at him. “We’ll see.”

  When I walk through the door and it shuts, I lean my back against it and blow out a long, drawn-out sigh.

  I can’t see him again.

  I don’t want to.

  I do want to.

  Shit.

  There’s something about Ledger Sharpe.

  Yes, he owned my heart once upon a time, but he’s right. I’m not a starry-eyed teenager anymore.

  So much has changed from the girl he once knew.

  I’m stronger.

  I’m independent.

  I’ve finally found my purpose.

  And I’ll be damned if I’ll let his handsom
e face and a pocketful of nostalgic memories get close enough to me to change anything about me this time around.

  Ledger

  Pushing my chair back from my makeshift desk—the kitchen table of my rental house—I scrub a hand over my face and sigh in frustration.

  Nothing is holding my attention. Fucking nothing. Not the emails I have waiting to be answered, not the talking heads blathering on the television across the room about the expectations of record travel this year, and sure as hell not the absolute silence inside and outside this modest house on the outskirts of Cedar Falls.

  Because all I can think about is Asher Wells.

  What happened before.

  The heartbreak.

  The fear.

  The constant looking over my shoulder every time I received an email or text from her that I’d leave unanswered.

  But to make things even more confusing, tonight I felt her anger and sensed the hurt beneath the surface. I watched her struggle with both, and it wasn’t until almost halfway through our conversation that it hit me—she doesn’t know. What I was accused of. Why the Sharpe family up and left out of nowhere.

  Why I never spoke to her again.

  That has to be why she was so angry. And for good measure. But I was angry too. Wasn’t I the one who’d had the most to lose?

  That’s the only explanation as to why she was so upset seeing me again. It has to be.

  Christ.

  I give a shake of my head to clear it.

  It doesn’t work.

  She’s still there.

  Still owning my every thought.

  How goddamn arrogant is that of me to assume I still affect her? There could be a dozen reasons why she was rattled and not a single one of them had to do with me. Right?

  Just like there should be a dozen reasons why I should be working and not obsessing over her misplaced anger and a past I thought was dead and buried.

  Jesus, Ledger. Get over it.

  With a sigh and renewed determination, I read the email in front of me again. But I don’t get past the second sentence because it’s fucking impossible to focus.